


In Another Life

by sahiya



Series: Irondad Bingo 2019 [7]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, But also, Cuddling & Snuggling, Don't copy to another site, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Multiverse, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Spider-Man: Far From Home Compliant, Peter Parker Gets a Hug, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony can't really fix anything but boy does he try, did I mention the angst?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 20:26:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19911697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: “Who’s there?" Peter called, finger on the panic button on his watch that would call Tony to him.The door opened, and Peter experienced a dizzying moment of vertigo, looking at... himself.





	In Another Life

**Author's Note:**

> Vote for angst and angst ye shall receive. Official warning from my beta Fuzzyboo: "She's not kidding about the angst! Prepare your tissues."
> 
> This follows [All That We See or Seem](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19352809/chapters/46042597), but I decided against including it in that series because it has a completely different tone than any of the other stories in the "Post-Endgame Cuddle Fic" series I created. I mean, technically this is post-Endgame cuddle fic, but it deals with the fallout from canon in a way that those stories don't. 
> 
> If you haven't read that fic what you need to know is this:
> 
> 1\. Carol wore the gauntlet, so Tony is uninjured. 
> 
> 2\. Peter (and Bruce and Carol) dreams frequently of the events of canon. He kept this a secret until "All That We See or Seem," when it came out while he was dealing with a major injury. 
> 
> Thanks for Fuzzyboo for beta reading. And, um... sorry not sorry.

The garage was dark and quiet at one in the morning. The only real light came from the bots’ charging stations. Peter decided not to turn on the overheads, just a couple of lamps.

He hadn’t expected to end up in the garage in the middle of the night. He usually slept well at the lake house, and he’d had trouble readjusting to life in the dorms at MIT, so he was extra tired. He’d been looking forward to catching up this weekend on some of the rest he hadn’t gotten the first few weeks of the semester. 

He’d fallen asleep easily, soothed by the distant sound of the lake. But then he’d woken up––all at once, with no stops between _asleep_ and _awake_. He didn’t think he’d been having a nightmare, but it was still jarring. Going back to sleep had felt impossible, so he’d gotten up to get a glass of water and maybe read for a bit on the sofa. 

That was when something—maybe the intuition that Tony called his “spidey sense” and May insisted on dubbing his “Peter tingle” just to mess with him—had told him to come out here.

Peter checked on a couple of current projects, just to make sure no one had messed with them. They seemed fine—locked down and secure, just like he and Tony had left them when they’d gone to bed. The low humming anxiety wouldn’t leave him, though. 

Peter frowned, wondering if maybe he had been having a nightmare after all. It’d been a week or two since he’d last dreamed about Tony dying in the other universe, so he was probably due for one of those. But it would be unusual for him to dream about it and not remember it in any detail. The vividness of those dreams was what made them so distressing.

He was about to lock up and go back to the house when all the hair on the back of his arms stood up. His senses immediately dialed up to eleven, and Peter heard a footfall just outside the door. 

“Who’s there?” he called, finger on the panic button on his watch that would call Tony to him.

The door opened, and Peter experienced a dizzying moment of vertigo, looking at... himself. 

He blinked three times in a row, but the other Peter was still there. And once Peter really looked at him, he realized they weren’t actually identical. The other Peter was wearing jeans and an old, threadbare MIT sweatshirt that had to have been Tony’s originally, instead of the Hello Kitty pajama pants and white t-shirt Peter was wearing. The other Peter looked younger, too, like Peter was looking at a photo of himself from right after the reversal three years ago, and his hair was longer, his curls unruly. 

His cheekbones were sharper than the ones Peter was used to seeing in the mirror. His eyes were shadowed and faintly rimmed in red. 

_Oh shit_ , Peter thought, and just barely managed not to say it out loud. “Hi Peter,” he said instead. 

The other Peter swallowed. “You’re not supposed to be here. It’s like one in the morning.”

“You’re not supposed to be here, either,” Peter pointed out, leaning against the workbench. “In fact, you’re _really_ not supposed to be here.”

The other Peter lifted his chin defiantly. It made him look even younger. “Look, I’m not universe hopping for fun. I don’t have time to chat. I’m here on a mission.”

Peter nodded. “Got it. Can I help?”

The other Peter hesitated. Peter wondered if his own face was that much of an open book all the time. Probably. Tony always seemed to know what he was thinking. “Maybe,” the other Peter hedged. “I’m looking for one of this universe’s time travel GPS’s. All the ones in my universe were destroyed.”

Peter’s stomach went cold. He knew that there was only one reason this Peter would want a time travel GPS. He could hardly blame him, but he was also certain that it was a bad idea. He very quietly hit the panic button. 

“What do you need it for?” Peter asked, leaning against the workbench. 

The other Peter looked at him for a moment. “This is one of the good universes, isn’t it? One of the ones where—where you got to keep him? Isn’t it?”

Peter decided it wasn’t worth pretending he didn’t know what the other Peter meant. “Yeah. Sometimes I dream about one where he died, though. Where he wore the gauntlet in the battle against Thanos.”

“That’s what happened in mine,” the other Peter said, wrapping his arms around himself. “I think sometimes I dream about yours. Not enough to remember much. Just feeling... safe.” He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing, and looked up, meeting Peter’s gaze. “I can’t do it anymore without him. I’m so tired. And it hurts. They got rid of all the time travel GPS’s in my universe, but I thought—I thought maybe in another—”

“Right,” Peter said. Distantly, he heard the door to the house open and close. But the other Peter was so laser focused on convincing him that he didn’t seem to notice.

“You have to understand,” he said, staring at Peter. “I’ve tried, okay? May keeps telling me that I need to grieve, and I’ve tried, but I can’t—I can’t accept it. I can’t. And finally I thought—what if I’m not supposed to? What if I’m the one who’s supposed to bring him back?”

Peter didn’t answer. He could see Tony standing in the half-open doorway, just behind the other Peter. Staring at the scene unfolding in front of him. 

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Peter said quietly. “I don’t think we have any of the time travel GPS’s here, but even if we did, I don’t think you can use them to change things like that.”

“ _Why not_?” the other Peter demanded. “Who the fuck are you to decide that, anyway? You got to keep your Tony, and it is so fucking unfair—”

“Pete,” Tony said softly. 

The other Peter choked on the rest of his sentence. He went very, very still, not turning to look behind him, barely even breathing. 

“Pete, I’m so sorry,” Tony said. “But he’s right. It doesn’t work that way. I don’t have any of the time travel GPS’s here, and if I did, I couldn’t let you have them.”

Peter didn’t have words to describe the look on the other Peter’s face. It was heartbreak and hope and grief and bittersweet joy. Peter hadn’t known that his face could look like that, so much feeling all at once. His eyes got hot and his throat ached in sympathy. 

He’d thought about this Peter so often, even though Tony had told him to try not to. He’d never thought he’d be face to face with him, though, and now that he was, he didn’t know what to say. The other Peter was right—it wasn’t fair. Peter hadn’t done anything to deserve to keep his Tony, any more than the other Peter had done something to deserve to lose his. It was just a cosmic roll of the dice. 

Tony reached out and put his hand on the other Peter’s shoulder. His face crumbled. He turned and threw himself into Tony’s arms, pressing his forehead against Tony’s shoulder.

Peter realized then that this other version of him didn’t need him. He wasn’t what the other Peter had come all this way for. It probably wasn’t a time travel GPS he’d really been after, either, though maybe he’d have used it if it’d been available. 

No. The other Peter needed Tony. 

Peter met Tony’s eyes over the other Peter’s shoulder. Peter nodded, and Tony managed to shift them over a foot or so, enough for Peter to slip by and out the door of the garage. 

Once he was in the house, he dithered for a moment; he didn’t think he was likely to sleep again, but he didn’t know where Tony would take the other Peter, and he didn’t want to be in the way if he brought him into the house. 

In the end, he went to his room and laid down, staring up at the ceiling. Thinking about fate and luck and how for once in his life, the roll of the dice had been in his favor. 

***

In some ways, Tony thought, this was a relief. 

After telling Peter to try not to think about it, Tony hadn’t had a lot of success taking his own advice. He was still regularly plagued by insomnia, and sometimes late at night he’d find himself lying awake, thinking about the Peter in the other universe who had lost his Tony. Tony knew what it was like when you kept getting dealt blow after blow, with barely any recovery time in between. Peter was a resilient kid, but after a while you inevitably wondered what the point of dragging yourself up only to be knocked down all over again really was. 

But there hadn’t been any way for Tony to help that Peter. Until suddenly, there was. 

For a long time after his Peter left the garage, Tony didn’t move. He held the other Peter firmly, one hand on the back of his head, while he cried. Sobbed, really, shaking with the force of it, until Tony was a little worried he might cry himself sick. This Peter felt smaller in his arms––thinner, but also an inch or two shorter––than Tony’s own. Time didn’t necessarily flow the same in all universes, Strange had mentioned once, and Tony had the feeling that this Peter was younger than his own, still very close to his loss. 

When the sobs finally quieted, Tony smoothed his hand down the back of Peter’s head and pulled away just far enough to look at him. “You want to sit, kid?” he asked. 

Peter nodded, sniffling. 

“Here? Or we could go down to the dock?”

Peter shook his head firmly. “That’s where we, at the funeral––” He hiccoughed, and Tony was briefly worried he might start sobbing again. “I can’t,” he finally finished. “I’m sorry.”

Tony drew him over to sit by the workbench, keeping his arm around his shoulders firmly. “I just asked because my––because the Peter in this universe likes to sit at the end of the dock and talk. We don’t have to.”

Peter shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve only been to the lake house once.”

Tony frowned. “Your Pepper and Morgan don’t live there?” Pepper loved the house. But maybe it reminded her too much of him. 

“They do,” Peter said. “I haven’t really... seen them.” He swallowed, wiping a hand over his face. Tony noticed an odd bracelet on his wrist––green like jade but completely smooth, with no clasp. It was the sort of thing Stephen Strange might wear. 

Tony blinked, dragging his eyes away from the bracelet and up to Peter’s face. He belatedly took in Peter’s words. “What do you mean, you haven’t seen them?”

Peter lifted one shoulder and then let it fall listlessly. “I just haven’t. Ms. Potts was super nice and everything––May and I both got snapped, so we kind of didn’t have anything, and she let us stay at your place in the city while we figured things out, and she’s been really generous with May’s new organization––she, um, she started this organization to help people who lost their homes and jobs and stuff from being snapped. But I haven’t... I don’t think Ms. Potts wants to see me,” Peter finished, looked away. “I don’t blame her. I don’t even want to see me most days.”

Tony found himself at a rare loss for words. Finally he decided to focus on what seemed to actually be the most important part, which was the very last thing Peter had said. “Why don’t you want to see yourself most days?”

Peter looked at him like he couldn’t believe he was being this stupid. “Because it’s my fault that you’re dead in my universe.”

Tony frowned. “How is that possibly true?” 

Peter shrugged, casting his eyes downward. “Colonel Rhodes told me at the funeral. I found that photograph of the two of us, the one––I guess I don’t even know if it existed here, but the one with the fake internship certificate that we did so Flash would stop bugging me?” Tony nodded. “Anyway. I found it, and Colonel Rhodes told me that you––that my Tony never... that he never forgot me, and he kept that photo close by all these years, and Colonel Rhodes was pretty sure that that was... that _I_ was... the reason he’d invented time travel.”

Tony closed his eyes and let his head drop. “Goddammit, Rhodey.”

“He meant it to be nice,” Peter said, without looking up. “I know he did. He meant it to be like, ‘Look like how much Tony cared about you.’ But if he hadn’t cared so much, he’d still be alive.” He shrugged helplessly. “So, you know... I don’t blame Ms. Potts for not wanting to see me.”

Tony didn’t know what to say. Nothing the kid was saying was untrue––Tony wasn’t sure he would have invented time travel if he hadn’t seen that photo of him and Peter that night and been reminded of what he’d lost. But he didn’t know how to make Peter understand that that didn’t make him responsible for his death. 

As for the rest, Tony wasn’t sure he had the right to meddle in any of it. Pepper was undoubtedly getting through this the best she could; it couldn’t be easy handling her own grief, and Morgan’s grief, and keeping the company going, all at the same time. Maybe she really _couldn’t_ see Peter right now. On the other hand, the idea that his kids were missing out on each other, even if he wasn’t there to see it, was almost unbearably sad to him. 

But mostly he just wanted to hug the kid in front of him until he stopped looking so heartbroken. 

Tony reached out and pulled Peter in. Peter stiffened in surprise at first and then relaxed into it, laying his head on Tony’s shoulder. “This is new,” Peter mumbled. “You never hugged me like this before.”

“Yeah, well, I was pretty emotionally constipated from the emotionally abusive childhood. Abandonment issues, trust issues, PTSD––you get the idea,” Tony replied frankly. “But, Pete––listen to me, all right? I can’t even begin to guess what Pepper is feeling right now, but I can tell you that your Tony knew exactly the risk he was running. He accepted it. He wanted to give you a shot at the life you should have had, and that was worth it to him. He wouldn’t want you to blame yourself. Those were his choices.”

Peter’s shoulders moved as he drew a hitching breathing. He sniffled. “I guess. I just––I just... I miss him. I miss him so much, and the press and everyone keeps asking if I’m going to be the next Iron Man and I––I’m not ready for it. I’m tired, and it hurts, and May is trying, she’s trying so hard, but I don’t think she gets it, and I just––I wish you were there. Why are you _here_?” he demanded suddenly, lifting his head to look at him. “You’re not even hurt.”

Tony swallowed. “It went differently.”

“How? What happened? Was it something I did? Dr. Strange said there was only one way it could’ve gone, but that obviously isn’t true, because it didn’t happen that way here.”

“It wasn’t something you did,” Tony said gently. “Someone else wore the gauntlet. I can’t tell you why it worked out that way here and not in your universe. I don’t have all the answers, kiddo, and I know it’s hard to accept. I know it seems––”

“It’s so unfair!” Peter said, eyes filling with tears all over again. 

Tony decided he couldn’t argue with that. “It is. It is terribly, horribly, grossly unfair. I wish I could do something to change it, but I can’t. And I can’t let you do anything either.”

Peter shook his head, looking away. Tears were slipping down his cheeks. “I think I knew that all along, but I had to try. And maybe... I don’t know. Maybe this is what I actually wanted.”

Finally, something Tony could do for him. “I can give you this,” Tony said, reaching out to squeeze Peter’s shoulder. “For one night.”

Peter snapped his head around to look at him. “Really? You’re not just going to send me back?”

“Oh, I am going to send you back,” Tony said, only slightly apologetic. “You can’t stay here, kid, you know that. Even if it wouldn’t do irreparable harm to the fabric of the multiverse, and I’m pretty sure it would, your own universe needs you. But we have,” he glanced at his watch, “just about five hours until the sun comes up. You can stay that long.”

Peter was staring at him with wide eyes. “Thank you,” he whispered. 

Tony shook his head. “Nothing to thank me for, kid.” He pulled him close again. Peter went easily this time, burying his face in the crook of Tony’s neck. Tony kissed the top of Peter’s head and cradled the back of his skull in his palm. 

They stayed like that for Tony didn’t know how long. Long enough that his back started to ache. Long enough that he wondered if this was literally all they were going to do for the next five hours, and whether his body would tolerate it. Probably not. 

Fortunately, he was saved by Peter’s metabolism. Tony was just starting to get desperate when Peter’s stomach growled. Peter flushed. Tony chuckled. “Hungry? I’m guessing you haven’t eaten since your own universe.”

“Yeah,” Peter admitted, still red in the face. 

“Come on, let’s go up to the house.” Tony stood, just barely managing to suppress a groan. “I’ll make you something to eat.”

“You don’t have to,” Peter started.

“Kid,” Tony said firmly. “I’m not listening to your stomach growl for the rest of the night. I’ll make you some eggs and we can at least be comfortable.”

Peter nodded. Tony put his arm around his shoulders as they left the garage, tugging him into his side, and together they went up the pathway to the house. 

***

Peter’s phone buzzed. He rolled over and glanced at it, seeing that it was a text from Tony. 

_We’re in the kitchen. I’m letting him stay until dawn._

Peter had no idea how that was supposed to make him feel. He was glad that the other Peter would have some time with Tony, but he still wanted to scream from the unfairness of it all. 

Peter picked up the phone and texted back. _Are you okay? Is he okay?_

_Yes and not really. I’m working on it. Actually, I need a favor._

_Sure. Anything_. 

Peter waited. He wondered if the other Peter was in the bathroom or something, while Tony was sending him these messages. He’d heard them come in, but he’d put his anti-hearing aids in, so that he wouldn’t inadvertently eavesdrop on their conversation. 

It took a few minutes, but the instructions finally came through. Peter sat up and threw off the covers. He put on a pair of sneakers and a hoodie, opened his window, and climbed out onto the deck. He sneaked around the house and headed down the path toward the garage. 

So much for catching up on sleep, Peter thought ruefully. What Tony had asked him to do was easy enough, but it would take most of the night. It would be worth it, though. If it worked. 

***

One of the surprises of Tony’s semi-retired, stay-at-home dad life had been his discovery that he liked to cook. He hadn’t bothered with it much since Howard had told Maria that he didn’t want his son growing up girly (though the old man’s language had been considerably less polite), and she’d stopped including him whenever she made spaghetti bolognese or pasta carbonara. He’d hardly boiled water again until Morgan was born and they were no longer living in a high tech tower in the middle of New York City. At that point, Tony found himself in charge of meals by default, and to his astonishment––he liked it.

In retrospect, maybe he shouldn’t have been so surprised. Cooking was creative. It was detail-oriented. It was something he could do for the people he loved to show them he cared. And it never failed to impress the hell out of Pepper, which Tony was always glad to find he could still do. 

Tony had planned on making Peter scrambled eggs and toast. It was easy and quick to make a lot of, and he imagined that any Peter from any universe would like it. But when he glanced in the fridge and found eggs and parmesan and bacon, he changed his mind. 

His Peter loved the pasta carbonara that Tony made on very special occasions, based on Maria’s recipe. It wouldn’t take that much longer than eggs, and if he only got to make this Peter one meal, it should be something special. 

“I didn’t know you cooked,” Peter said, from where he sat at the kitchen table with a mug of tea in front of him. He’d been very quiet since they’d come in the house, nothing at all like the chatterbox Tony was used to. “You––the other you, I mean––never cooked before. We’d always order pizza or Indian or sushi or something.”

“Well, the delivery options are kind of limited out here,” Tony said, moving easily around the kitchen. He filled a pot with water for the pasta and set it on the stove. “One of the downsides of moving to the middle of nowhere. But the upside is that I got to discover a whole new hobby I never would have in the city.”

Peter nodded, watching him. “Why did you move here? I always wondered.”

Tony took a moment to answer, salting the water generously before looking up. “After the snap, I was sort of... I was a mess, kid. Really, seriously depressed, for a long time. We’d failed. _I’d_ failed. Living at the compound was a reminder of that. But then Pepper found out she was pregnant, and we asked ourselves where the best place to raise our kid would be. We started looking at places that were kind of off the grid, and we found this one.”

“It’s not exactly off the grid now,” Peter observed. 

“No,” Tony admitted. He started grating the parmigiano reggiano. “I don’t really do off the grid, and Pepper was and is still running SI, so we had to make some modifications. But it’s not easy to get to, and it’s very quiet. That’s what we wanted.”

“I like how quiet it is. It feels safe.”

There was something his voice that made Tony look at him sharply. “That’s not something you’re feeling much of these days, is it? Safe, I mean.”

Peter shook his head. He kept his eyes trained on Tony’s hands as he started chopping bacon. “No. It’s... I feel like something awful could happen at any moment. I mean, I was on a bus heading to MOMA on a field trip, and then I was on a ship heading into space, and then I got dusted, and I know it was five years for you, but for me it’s like I blinked and woke up to a war zone and then––and then you died. It was less than a day for me from that bus to you dying. It was so fast.”

Tony blinked. “I’ve never thought about it like that. It felt like a lifetime to me.”

“Yeah.” Peter swallowed. “I’m really glad May got snapped, too, and Ned, and MJ, because I don’t know what I’d do if they’d all moved on without me.”

“You’d learn how to deal with it,” Tony said, doing his best not to sound dismissive. “May wasn’t snapped in this universe. I don’t think it’s been easy for her and Peter, but they’ve been working through it.”

Peter shrugged. “Yeah, but that’s kind of the worst he’s got to deal with, isn’t it?”

There was a bitter note in his voice. Tony couldn’t really blame him for it, but he didn’t want to just let it lie, either. He stayed quiet as he scraped the bacon off the cutting board and into the waiting pan on the stove. It sizzled satisfyingly as the fat hit the heat. Tony spread the pieces out evenly in the pan and reached for the carton of eggs. 

“We were luckier here,” he said, pausing with the first egg in his hand to look at Peter. “I won’t deny that. But the thing that makes luck _luck_ is that we don’t control it. Humans go to great lengths as a species to impose order on chaos. Religion, conspiracy theories, and scientific inquiry are all basically that, in the end. But sometimes we have to accept that there is no order to it, and there’s nothing we can do about it. I hope you won’t hold Peter’s luck against him.”

“I’m trying not to,” Peter said, looking abashed. “You’re right, it’s not his fault. I’m just...” He bit his lip. “I’m really jealous of what he gets to have.”

“That’s okay, kid,” Tony said, allowing all the affection he felt for Peter––for any Peter, in any universe––to seep into his voice. Peter looked up at him and smiled tentatively. “It’s okay to feel jealous, and it’s okay to be angry that the universe dealt you a shitty hand. All I’m asking is that you don’t hold it against Peter.”

Peter nodded, falling silent again as Tony started separating egg yolks.

Tony’s own Peter could eat pasta carbonara like both his legs were hollow, and Tony assumed it’d be the same for this one. He took a small helping for himself––his aging digestive system would not thank him for eating a bunch of fat, carbs, and dairy in the middle of the night––and piled half of the rest on a plate for Peter. He cracked some black pepper over it, added an extra dusting of parmigiano reggiano, and set it down in front of Peter at the table. 

“Thanks,” Peter said, looking up at him. “It smells amazing.”

“It was my mom’s recipe,” Tony said, sitting down across from him. “I can give it to you if you’d like. The May in this universe really likes it, I bet yours would, too.”

“Probably.” Peter picked up the spoon and fork Tony had given him and started twirling the pasta. Tony watched take the first bite and saw the look of pleased surprise that crossed his face. He swallowed. “Whoa. That is delicious.”

“Eat up, kid,” Tony replied, picking up his own fork. “You look like you need it. Plenty more where that came from, too.”

Peter nodded, too busy inhaling his pasta to answer verbally. 

They didn’t talk much while they ate. Tony watched Peter and checked his phone for updates from FRIDAY and his Peter on their project. It looked like it’d be done by the deadline Tony had set for Peter going back to his own universe. It wasn’t enough––it wasn’t nearly everything Tony wanted to do for this Peter, who was thinner and sadder and much more tired than Tony’s own, and that was saying something––but it was something.

“You want any more?” Tony asked, once Peter had scraped his plate clean. 

Peter shook his head. “Maybe later. That was so good. You’d really give me the recipe?”

“Yeah, of course. And you just watched me make it, so you know it isn’t that hard. There’s only four ingredients.” Tony took Peter’s plate and put it in the sink along with his own, then got them both glasses of water. Hydration was important when traveling through the multiverse, Tony assumed. He brought them back to the table and sat down. “So. What do you want to do, kid?”

Peter’s eyes went to the clock on the microwave. Tony watched him do the math. A little over three hours left. Tony sat back, letting him think. But after a minute or two, he saw Peter stop thinking and start hesitating. 

Tony knew that look. That was the look of a Peter Parker who knew what he wanted but didn’t want to ask for it. 

“It’s okay, kid,” Tony said gently. “Just tell me.”

“Before, in the garage,” Peter blurted out, like he was afraid he might change his mind. “When you hugged me. Can we just––can we do that again?”

“Yeah, of course,” Tony said, eyebrows raised. “Why so hesitant?”

Peter shrugged, eyes cutting away. “He and I never––he didn’t hug me until after I came back, and then it was just the once. It was really nice, but I can hardly think about it because––because like ten minutes later––” His voice cracked, and when he spoke again it wobbled all over the place. “I hate that I have this memory that should be nice, and it’s not. I just––I just want to be able to remember him hugging me without thinking about him dying.”

“Jesus, kid.” Tony’s own voice was rougher than usual, perilously close to cracking. “Come on. Inside or outside?”

Peter glanced at the stairs up to the second floor. “Outside.”

The truth was that if they hadn’t already woken Pepper and Morgan up, they probably weren’t going to, but Tony understood wanting to put a little distance between them. 

It was October now, and the nights were decidedly cooler than they had been. Tony grabbed a couple of throws on his way through the living room and took them out to the porch with them. He chose the love seat where he’d sat a thousand times with both his kids and sat down. He flipped one throw out over his knees and patted the seat beside him until Peter curled up there, leaning against him. Tony spread the other one out over him and wrapped his arm firmly around Peter’s shoulders and chest, holding him against him. He was just the right level for Tony to rest his cheek on the top of his head. 

“How’s this?” Tony asked. 

“Good,” Peter breathed, almost inaudibly. Tony felt his chest hitch under his arm and knew without looking that Peter was crying. 

That was okay. It was worth crying about. Tony suspected that Peter hadn’t really grieved for the other Tony yet, hadn’t been able to. Maybe this would help. 

For a minute, two minutes, five minutes, they just breathed together, while Peter cried, and Tony blinked away some extra wetness in his own eyes. “I love you,” Tony said at last, into the quiet stillness. “I know he never told you, but he’d want you to know. He loved you, and I love you.”

Peter’s breath hitched again. “I’m not your Peter.”

Tony pressed a kiss to the crown of Peter’s head. “I love every version of you there is, Peter Parker,” he replied, voice definitely breaking now. “Just like I love every version of Morgan, and every version of Pepper. That’s what love is.”

Peter gave a very quiet sob and turned his face into Tony’s chest. “I love you, too,” he whispered. “I never told you––the other you. I wish I had.”

“I’m not sure he would’ve been ready to hear it, kiddo,” Tony said, smoothing a hand down the back of Peter’s head. The kid needed a haircut. “But he knew. I promise you, he knew.”

***

“The integration is complete, Peter,” FRIDAY said. 

Peter forced his eyes open with a yawn. “Awesome, FRIDAY, thanks.” He stood up from where he’d been sprawled out under a Thor snuggie on the couch in the garage. He stretched. “And we’re pretty sure that these will work in the other universe?”

“My simulations indicate that there is an eighty-five percent chance.”

“I guess that’s as good as it’s going to get.” Peter picked up the blue-tinted StarkGlasses and popped them on his face. “Hey Tony.” 

“Hey kid,” the AI in the glasses replied. “What are you doing up so early? It’s a Sunday, shouldn’t all Spiderkids be in bed until at least noon?”

Peter had to smile. “I had too much to do to sleep. Besides, I once heard human Tony tell Rhodey that he’d sleep when he was dead.” A joke that was, come to think of it, way less funny in light of their circumstances. 

“Don’t be too much like me, kid,” AI Tony replied. “Sleep helps the synapses.”

“You always say that.” 

“That’s because it’s always true.”

“Fair point, I guess.” Peter paused, wondering if AI Tony could answer a question he’d had ever since he’d realized what Tony wanted him to do. “Hey, do you know why you were created?”

“That’s a pretty philosophical question for this early in the morning. Why were _you_ created?”

“You know what I mean,” Peter replied, rolling his eyes. “Why did human Tony create you? Do you know?”

There was a brief pause, as though the AI were thinking. Or processing, Peter supposed. “I don’t know,” AI Tony finally admitted. “He didn’t include that information in my base code. But I do have a mission to protect my creator’s family––that’s you and Morgan and Pepper, with secondary programs for Rhodey and Happy.”

Peter’s ears grew warm. “That’s really nice.”

“Actually, kid, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m kind of an asshole.”

Peter laughed. “Yeah, but I like that about you. Thanks, Tony.”

“No problem, kid.” 

Peter took the glasses off and folded them up, then slipped them into their traveling case. He hoped they worked in the other universe. Eight-five percent was pretty good odds, but it wasn’t like they’d be able to test them. 

“Are they still on the porch, FRI?” Peter asked. 

“Yes, Peter. They have not moved in the last two hours.” 

Peter glanced at his watch. They had about twenty minutes till sunrise. He didn’t want to disturb them before he had to, but it was probably time. “Let Tony know I’m coming up, okay?”

“I will, Peter.”

Peter slipped the case into his pocket and left the garage. 

***

It was getting lighter. 

They were still about half an hour away from real dawn, but time was running away from them. Tony was conscious of every second he had left with the kid in his arms. 

Neither of them had spoken in the last hour. They had at first. Tony had taken the opportunity to tell Peter everything he’d wished he could tell his Peter during the five years he’d been gone, everything that this Peter had never gotten to hear from his Tony at all. Not only that he loved him, but that he was proud of him, that he believed in him, that Peter was more ready than he thought he was––but also that he didn’t have to be the next Iron Man or the next Tony Stark. That all he needed to be was Peter Parker, because Peter Parker was enough. 

Peter had cried in relief when Tony had said that, as though he’d really wondered if it was true. 

Peter had had his share of things to say, too. He’d wanted to talk about the everyday things, mostly––about his crush on MJ, and how weird the post-snap world was, and which colleges he should apply to. “MIT, MIT, and MIT,” Tony said, which made Peter laugh. 

“How did you deal with the pressure?” Peter finally asked, after over an hour of talking about everything other than superheroing.

Tony tightened his arms around him. “Badly,” he admitted. “Don’t do what I did, kid. Please.”

“Okay,” Peter said slowly. “Then how can I do better?”

Tony let his breath out slowly. What could he have done better? What could they all have done better? What were they doing better _now_?

“Find your team,” Tony finally said. “Start with Bucky and Sam and Rhodey. But remember that your team is also May and Happy and Ned. It’s Helen and Bruce and your therapist––please, for the love of Thor, kid, find a therapist. Happy can help you with that. Bottom line is, don’t fly solo. You might not have your Tony, but you have so many other people. Let them help you.”

Peter had sniffled quietly. “Okay,” he’d agreed. 

Eventually they had talked themselves out and gone quiet. Tony had tried not to think ahead to what would happen when the sun rose, but rather to exist in the moment with this Peter, because this Peter deserved for him to be present with him for as long as possible.

Still, he couldn’t freeze time. It had grown light enough for Tony to see down to the water when there was a quiet beep in his ear. “Boss,” FRIDAY said, “Peter is on his way to you with the glasses. You have approximately twenty minutes left.”

“Thanks, FRI,” Tony murmured. 

Beside him, Peter stirred. “Is it time?” he asked, sitting up. 

“Almost.” Tony looked at him, able to see his face for the first time in a couple of hours. His eyes were rimmed with red and his face was blotchy from crying, but despite that he seemed much calmer than when he’d first arrived. Accepting, even. He wasn’t going to argue about leaving, Tony was pretty sure. “How are you?”

Peter turned his face away, looking down toward the lake. He drew a deep breath. “I’m okay. I’m going to be okay. I’m not sure I believed that before, but I do now.”

The door to the garage opened and closed. Tony looked up to see Peter––his Peter––coming up the path toward them. 

“Good morning,” Peter said, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. 

“Morning, kid,” Tony said, smiling at him and beckoning him up onto the porch. 

The Peter tucked into Tony’s side looked confused. “When did you––I thought you were in the house?”

“I had a project to take care of,” Peter replied. He sat down on the wicker chair beside the love seat and took a StarkGlasses case out of his pocket. He handed it to Tony. 

Tony sat forward. “These are for you,” he said to the other Peter. He took the glasses out of the case and slid them onto his face. “Say, ‘Hey Tony.’’’

“Hey Tony,” Peter echoed, and his eyes widened. “Whoa, what the––” He jerked the glasses off his face and stared at them. Then he stared at Tony’s Peter. “You made these in one night?”

“No, no,” Peter said, smiling and shaking his head. “I’m not that good. The AI already existed, it just had to be integrated with the glasses, and then FRIDAY and I had to rewrite some of the software to account for it having to work in a different universe. We’re like eight-five percent sure that it will now. Though I think it’ll help if you have access to your universe’s FRIDAY.”

“I, um.” Peter hesitated. “I don’t know if I have access to FRIDAY, but I definitely have Karen.”

“You have access to FRIDAY through Karen,” Tony assured him. “But this is only if you want them,” he added. “I’ll understand if you don’t.” JARVIS had been of great comfort to him, but he hadn’t worked as a replacement for the man himself the way Tony had envisioned. Early on, there had been times when Tony had needed to silence JARVIS because it was too painful for him to hear. 

“No, I want them,” Peter said quickly. “Thank you, Mr. Stark!”

“Tony,” Tony corrected gently. 

Peter swallowed audibly. “Tony.” 

There was a moment of silence, and then Tony said, “I have one more thing I want to send with you.”

“The carbonara recipe?” Peter asked hopefully. 

Tony ruffled his hair. “The Tony AI will give you that. No, it’s something else. Give me just a minute.”

He got up to go inside. As he did, he heard his Peter say, “Isn’t Tony’s carbonara the best thing ever?”

“It was amazing. And it’s like three hours later, and I’m not even hungry yet.”

“I know, it’s my favorite. Um... do you know if there was any left over?”

Tony smiled to himself and let the door swing shut behind him. He hunted through the living room until the found paper, tearing a piece out of one of Morgan’s drawing pads. He grabbed the first pen he saw, which happened to be the red from Morgan’s set of markers. He sat down on the sofa and spread the sheet out on the coffee table. 

He hesitated. 

He’d intended to write directly to Pepper, but now that seemed rather... unfair. On the offhand chance she really was holding Tony’s own choices against Peter––and Tony didn’t think she would, but grief did weird things to people––he didn’t want to put the kid in an awkward position either. But Peter had said that Happy had been around a lot ever since, and Tony worried less about putting Happy in an awkward position. God knew it wouldn’t be the first time. 

He was running out of time. 

_Happy,_ he finally wrote. 

_I don’t have a lot of time so I’ll be straightforward. Please look after the kid for me. I know you like him more than you let on, but he needs to see it and hear it every once in a while. Also, after Morgan was born, I used to think about what it would be like to see her and Peter together. I know she has a lot of people looking out for her, but I think they’d be good for each other. You spent years protecting me; now I’m asking you to protect them, and to make sure they have the chance to know each other._

Tony bit his lip, conscious of the seconds slipping by. From what Peter had told him, he hadn’t had the chance to say good-bye to Happy. It seemed kind of cruel to make this all about Peter, when he was making such a big ask of Happy himself. What would he say to Happy if he thought it would be the last time he’d ever speak to him?

 _Thank you for all those years_ , Tony finally wrote. _I know there were some pretty low lows, but I hope the height of the highs made up for them. I’m sorry for all the times you must have thought I didn’t see everything you did for me. Your loyalty and friendship meant the world._

_Yours,_  
_Tony_

_P.S. Ask out May Parker if you haven’t already. You’ll thank me, I promise._

It wasn’t the most elegant letter he’d ever written, but he didn’t have time for a second draft. He grabbed an envelope out of the desk and sealed it, wrote Happy’s name on the outside, and then signed his own name over the seal.

The pen wasn’t just red, he realized then. It was red with gold sparkles. Tony snorted, imagining Happy’s reaction.

The kids were sitting side by side on the loveseat when Tony re-emerged. They weren’t talking, but there wasn’t any tension in the air, either. Tony handed the envelope to the other Peter. “This is for Happy, all right?”

“Um, okay,” Peter said, taking it from him. “Where should I tell him I got it?”

“That depends. You going to tell anyone about your adventures in the multiverse?”

Peter shrugged. “I don’t know. Dr. Strange probably already knows, but I’m pretty sure he’d keep it a secret if I asked. It’s not like the team doesn’t know other universes exist, but... I mean. I’m definitely not supposed to be here.”

Tony nodded in understanding. “I wrote it so it works either way. Be honest with Happy if you want. Otherwise, tell him it just showed up in your room one day.”

“He won’t wonder?”

“Oh, he’ll definitely wonder,” Tony replied with a smile. “But it’s exactly the sort of thing I’d manage to pull off from beyond the grave, so he probably won’t question it too hard.”

Peter nodded. He slipped it into his pocket. 

The three of them sat, looking at each other. The sky was brightening, the sun nearly up. It was going to be a beautiful fall day. 

“Two minutes to sunrise, boss,” FRIDAY said in his ear.

Tony drew a deep breath. “All right, kid. It’s time.”

Tony’s Peter cleared his throat. “I’ll, um. I’ll say good-bye and then let the two of you... anyway.” He glanced at the other Peter. “I––I hope––I hope the AI helps.”

“I think it will,” the other Peter said. He lurched forward suddenly and hugged Tony’s Peter. He said something, too low for Tony to hear, and Tony’s Peter said something back, just as quietly. 

They let each other go, and Tony’s Peter stood up. “I’ll start the coffee,” he said, and squeezed Tony’s shoulder as he passed by. 

Tony looked at Peter. “Did you get what you came for?”

“More than,” Peter said, smiling shakily at him. His eyes were glassy with tears, but he was holding them back. “Thanks for everything. I’ll never forget this.”

“Me neither, kid.” Tony stood up. “Come here. We’ve got time for one last hug.” Peter dove into his arms, and Tony wrapped him up tight. “You take care of yourself, all right?” he said into his ear. “Eight hours of sleep a night and regular meals. Make that carbonara. It’s good with an extra fried egg on it for more protein, or peas for a vegetable.” Peter nodded, face buried in Tony’s neck. “Remember that I love you and he loved you, too. And––and look after Morgan. I asked Happy in that letter to make sure you two get to know each other. She’s your little sister in every way that matters. Let her wear the glasses and say hi once in a while.”

Peter sniffled. “I will. Thanks, Tony.”

Tony kissed him on the side of the head one last time. “Find your team. Don’t fly solo.”

“I won’t.” Peter squeezed him tight enough that Tony went briefly breathless. Then he let go and stepped back. Tony could see the envelope and the case with the StarkGlasses distorting the shape of the pouch of Peter’s hoodie. Peter’s hand went to the weird green bracelet on his arm, the one Tony had noticed when he’d first seen him in the garage. “I love you, too, Tony. Thanks again.”

“Safe travels, kid,” Tony replied. They locked eyes, and Peter did something by touch on the bracelet. There was a brief flash of golden-green light, and he was gone. 

***

The coffee finished percolating just as a flash of light illuminated the dim living room. Peter fixed two mugs––one with just a splash of vanilla almond milk and one with enough cream and sugar to turn it nearly white––and took them out to the porch. 

Tony was sitting on the loveseat, watching the sun come up. He looked up as Peter emerged. His eyes were a little red, but his face was dry. Peter handed him his coffee and sat down beside him, pulling his feet up and leaning against him. There were a couple of blankets pushed aside, and Peter spread one out so it covered both of them. Tony put his arm around him. They were both silent, watching as the sun finished rising over the lake. The leaves were turning, red and gold and oranges flaring in patches around the house and the water. The air was all fall crispness, no more hint of summer softness.

Peter thought about the last conversation he and the other Peter had had, while Tony was in the house writing his note to Happy. 

_"Thanks for letting me borrow him for the night.”_

_"Don’t thank me. I’m just––I’m really sorry it didn’t work out better for you and your Tony.”_

_"Me too. But I think... I think it’s going to be okay. Just promise me one thing. Never take for granted that you have him.”_

_"I won’t. I promise.”_

When they’d hugged each other good-bye, the other Peter had made him promise that he would take care of Tony. And he would, Peter vowed, listening to the beat of Tony’s heart, the whisper of air in his lungs. He’d take care of him, and he wouldn’t take their time together for granted.

“So,” Peter finally said, when the sun was all the way up, “you had an AI version of yourself just lying around on a secret server?”

Tony smiled very faintly. “Contingency plan. You do this long enough, you have enough people who rely on you, you get good at thinking through how to mitigate the worst case scenarios.”

“Mmm.” Peter sipped his coffee and did his best to file that away in the _don’t think about it too hard_ lockbox in the back of his brain. “I’m surprised we haven’t heard from Strange.”

“I’m sure he’ll be in touch this morning.” Tony’s voice held a note of reflexive annoyance, as it always did when Stephen Strange’s name came up. Peter managed to hide his grin. “I bet he can’t wait to explain why it was dangerous to let the kid stay as long as he did.”

“Probably,” Peter agreed. He lay his head on Tony’s shoulder. “But I’m glad you did.”

“Me too.” Tony sipped his coffee slowly. Peter felt more than heard him breathe out, his body relaxing as though he was releasing tension as well as air. “You hungry, kid?” he asked. 

“Starving,” Peter replied. “I hear there’s leftover carbonara.”

“There is. Want me to fry up a couple of eggs to go on top?”

“Sounds great.”

They pushed the blankets off and stood up. Tony put his arm around Peter’s shoulders and gave him a squeeze, then went inside the house. 

Peter cast one last look out at the lake, at the new day that had just begun, and followed him inside. 

_Fin._

**Author's Note:**

> Truth time: I made myself cry with this story. 
> 
> There will be fluff next, I promise. So much fluff.


End file.
